


An Uneasy Truce

by igrockspock



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Holidays, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan's always preferred to spend his holidays deployed, or at least in a country where no one knows his name and American holidays don't count.  Spending even a fraction of Thanksgiving alone with Keith Mars is pretty much the most terrifying thing he can imagine -- but for Veronica, he'll do just about anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Uneasy Truce

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to have this finished in time for posting at Thanksgiving, but I didn't quite make it. Hope you still enjoy!

Logan's so freaked out by the possibility of a Mars family Thanksgiving that he almost doesn't notice that Veronica's completely freaked out too -- until he wakes up at two in the morning, and Veronica's not in bed anymore. He pads into the living room of her tiny apartment and finds her sitting in a dim circle of light on the sofa. Her laptop is open, her iPad is next to her, and there are at least twelve magazines spread out on the coffee table and the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asks, dragging a hand over his eyes.

"To brine or not to brine. That is the question," Veronica says. She sounds really, really awake. She shifts the computer off her lap and grabs one of the magazines from the coffee table. "See, according to Alton Brown and Bon Appetit, brining is an essential first step, but the Pioneer Woman says never to brine a frozen turkey, and that's what I have so..."

Her voice trails off and she looks up at Logan, clearly expecting him to weigh in on the issue. He blinks. Usually he wakes up pretty fast; quick emergency response is kind of a Navy thing, but then there's a procedure to follow, a uniform to put on, weapons to ready, that sort of thing. Now he's just left with a bunch of questions, like what the hell is brining, and why would someone do it if it takes a lot of time? And more importantly, how does Veronica know anyone called the Pioneer Woman, much less care what she thinks?

He gazes at the magazines spread across the coffee table. "Veronica, what is this really about?" he asks.

Veronica shakes her head. "My dad always made the turkey before, but since he's not up to full strength yet, the task falls to me. I just want to do it right."

Logan peers over Veronica's shoulder at the laptop. "And that's why you have twenty-four browser tabs open to pumpkin pie recipes?" he asks. He bends down and leans over the back of the couch so their heads are close together. "Aren't you an old hand at this by now?"

Thanksgiving had always happened during their off-again phases, but Logan had assumed Veronica and her father had some ancient box filled with sacrosanct family recipes. She'd always known her way around the kitchen; that had been obvious in the offhand way she'd pick up ingredients at the grocery store with some comment about making dinner for her father, even when they were still in high school. Now her fridge is full of esoteric mushrooms and alien-looking squash, and she once used the word _umami_ to describe something they ate at a restaurant. Thanksgiving seems like a slam dunk for someone like that.

Veronica turns to face him. "I've never actually made Thanksgiving dinner before. We tried, a couple times in high school, but after Mom left, it wasn't really the same." She shrugs. "Last year, we went out for curry, and the year before that it was Ethiopian. But now that I'm home..."

"You want to prove to your dad with one meal that you really should be here instead of in New York?"

Veronica chuckles nervously. "It sounds kind of irrational when you say it that way."

"I get it, Veronica," he says. "You want to give your dad a good holiday." He actually _does_ get it, or at least he thinks so. It's not like he'd ever stopped trying to please Aaron, and Aaron wasn't even half the father that Keith Mars is. He can guess how much it hurts Veronica to feel like her father's disappointed, and as happy as he is that Veronica's here, he knows she basically gave up a job for him. That's probably why he lets the words leave his mouth, even though he knows it's a terrible idea. "I'll make the turkey," he says. "I can figure it out."

Veronica blinks, and suddenly it's like they're back at Hearst and she's struggling to believe he went to a lecture or studied for a test. "You. Make a turkey. The king of Chinese take-out and hotel room service is volunteering to cook a Thanksgiving turkey?"

Logan smiles. "I've learned how to do a lot of things in nine years, Veronica. Fly an airplane, follow orders, cook..." By which he means he can boil spaghetti and saute vegetables and generally not starve in the event of a restaurant apocalypse. But cooking is mostly following instructions, right? If he can follow instructions for pasta primavera, he can follow them to a juicy golden-brown turkey too.

The incredulous look hasn't left Veronica's face. "So you're coming? To Thanksgiving, I mean?"

"Yeah," he says. "Of course." The truth is, he'd been dreading it for the better part of a month. He preferred to spend his holidays deployed, or at least in a country where nobody knows his name and American holidays don't count. And if he absolutely _has_ to be in United States, playing the third wheel with somebody else's family is pretty much the last place he wants to be. Skipping out on family holidays is not an acceptable relationship move though -- he'd learned that one the hard way once -- so Mars family Thanksgiving it is.

Veronica leans back and rests her head on his shoulder. "Alright. Offer accepted. You are officially in charge of the Mars family turkey."

Logan knows he shouldn't say it, but he can't help himself. "Is this Veronica Mars, asking me for help?"

"Did you think you were the only one who learned something new in the last nine years?" she asks. She takes a breath. "Yes, this is me, asking for help making Thanksgiving dinner and remembering that my father's approval cannot be won or lost by a single meal."

"So if I say we should throw away half the magazines and limit ourselves to five browser tabs at once..."

"Absolutely not," Veronica says. "But I could probably be persuaded to come back to bed."

 _That_ at least is a task Logan's never had trouble with.

***

Logan arrives at the Mars house on Wednesday night with an armful of grocery bags. Mr. Mars is asleep on the couch, which is honestly a relief. Their interactions since Logan's return have been civil and brief -- an arrangement that Logan suspects Veronica has masterminded for both of their benefit.

Veronica leads him back to the kitchen, where a surprising number of dirty pots and empty mixing bowls are cluttered around the sink.

"I thought we were cooking Thanksgiving dinner on, you know, Thanksgiving," he says, though he wouldn't really know. The help had always cooked their family dinners, although Aaron had always snagged a few shots of himself triumphantly basting the turkey.

"Prep work," Veronica says firmly, stepping behind the counter to slice an onion.

Logan puts the grocery bags down on the counter. He knows he ought to unload them, but instead he watches Veronica chop the onion in careful, neat strokes.

"What are you looking at?" she asks.

"You," he says truthfully. He lets the silence rest just long enough to watch a pale pink flush creep along Veronica's cheekbones. Then he says, "It's endearing to see you laid low by a mere onion."

" _Hey_ ," Veronica says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "This onion is my bitch, I'll have you know."

"It would be more convincing if you weren't crying," Logan says, stepping around the counter and taking the knife from Veronica's hand. "Allow me."

Veronica watches him with frank appreciation. "This is pretty sexy," she says. "Could you maybe do it with your shirt off?"

"That could be arranged," he says. "You're dad's still asleep, right?" He reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Veronica stills his hand.

"I'll settle for the mental picture," she says, eying her father, who's still snoring on the couch. "My dad catching you shirtless in the kitchen is possibly not the best way to start the holiday."

"Right you are, Bobcat," Logan says, grinning. 

For a minute, he and Veronica just stand next to each other at the counter. She's just close enough that he can feel the warmth of her body, and there's no sound but the steady thwack of his knife on the cutting board. It's so normal and good that it almost makes him believe he can do this whole family Thanksgiving thing -- and that's when he sees Veronica reach for her keys.

"Going somewhere, darling?" he asks, trying but failing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Veronica sighs. "Cheating husband." She shakes her head. "If we didn't need the money --"

"You could let me take care of some things once in awhile," Logan snaps. They've been over this. Thanks to his newfound responsible decision making skills, he's got more than enough money to see him through, oh, the entire rest of his life and then some. Helping Veronica with a few bills is pretty much the least he can do.

"Like law school?" Veronica snaps. "I have told you I'm not ready for that."

"Then at least let me take care of _something_ ," he says, not caring that his voice is probably getting too loud. 

"I _am_ letting you take care of things," Veronica says. He follows her gaze to the groceries on the counter, the onion on the cutting board, and the turkey he's going to brine even though it sounds like a pain in the ass. This, by normal people's standards, does not constitute letting someone take care of things. But then, Veronica's not a normal person. That's why he loves her.

"Okay," he says quietly. Baby steps, right? If this is how Veronica wants to let him in, he'll take it. He steps forward and kisses her forehead. "Do what you need to do."

Veronica squeezes his hand, and when she looks up to meet his eyes, she really does look grateful. "Thanks. I'll be home before you know it."

Logan smirks, and Veronica winces.

"I'll be home by eleven at the very latest."

"That's my girl," Logan says.

Then Mr. Mars' voice drifts in from the living room. "I promise not to kill your boyfriend while you're gone, honey."

"That's the painkillers talking, I swear," Veronica says. She kisses Logan on the cheek, he stares at her pathetically for a minute, and she says, "You can do this."

Then she picks up her purse and makes for the door.

***

The turkey stock, which had seemed like a ridiculous affectation, is just as easy to make as Veronica had claimed it would be -- which is really kind of a problem, since there's a long list of things Logan would rather do than go into the living room and spend a few hours of quality time with Veronica's dad. Like land on a pitching carrier deck in the black ass night, for example. So basically he would rather risk his life than talk to his girlfriend's father doesn't _that_ just make him manly and courageous?

Logan's elbow-deep in suds and dirty dishwater when Mr. Mars comes into the kitchen, still limping just enough to make it clear he's really still supposed to be using crutches, or at least a cane.

"Evening, Mr. Mars," Logan says, brief and civil as always.

"Evening, Logan," Mr. Mars replies, and uneasy silence hangs descends between them.

Logan wipes a saucepan clean with a dish towel and tries very, very hard not to want Mr. Mars' approval.

"I don't believe I ever properly thanked you for saving my life," Mr. Mars says finally.

Logan can think of a lot of responses to that. _I was trained for it_ , for one. It's true. Or _I would've done it for anyone_. Saving Veronica's father had admittedly carried a special urgency, but it wasn't the first or even the second or third time he'd risked his own life to save someone else's. The Navy had even given him a medal for it. It was very shiny and impressive-looking, though that doesn't seem to count for much with Mr. Mars.

Really, there are a lot of perfectly good, _civil_ answers Logan could give. Instead he goes for the honest one.

"I imagine you thought we were even," he says. "After I stole your daughter and all."

Mr. Mars looks chagrined. "I think you might have caught me."

"I didn't ask her to stay, you know," Logan says. He had known, in the back of his mind, that if Veronica came to Neptune to find him a lawyer, she'd stay to solve the mystery of Carrie's murder. But he'd never imagined that would entail giving up a boyfriend or a job, and even after she had, he'd never thought she'd stay in Neptune.

She'd met him when he'd had a couple days liberty in Santiago, and he said, "You know, I always pictured myself picking you up from a flight from JFK instead of LAX."

He figured she might say "me too" or say something vague about her father's recovery, like she had been for most of his deployment. Instead she was quiet.

"What gives, Veronica?" he'd asked. "Why aren't you back in New York already?" He'd been prepared to work out a long-distance relationship, no matter; it seemed only fair after she'd accepted the reality of his six month deployments.

"I want to destroy the Neptune Sheriff's Department," she'd said. Her voice was steady and clear, and her fingers were clenched around her wine glass so hard he thought she might break it. He'd been prepared to ask her the whys and hows -- a Veronica vengeance plan was always a thing of beauty -- but then she'd looked down at the table, twirling her wine glass in her hand.

And then she'd looked back up at him, taking a deep breath. "And the truth is, Logan, I don't want to leave you."

He would _never_ have asked Veronica to stay. But when she said she wanted to, he didn't have the heart to argue. Not even for a second.

Mr. Mars sighs. "I know you didn't ask her to stay in Neptune. If you had, I doubt she'd still be here." He doesn't sound like he would've been sorry if Veronica had jumped right back on a plane. "The truth is, I knew she wasn't happy in New York. She put up a good front, and I just kept thinking if she gave it a little longer, if she found the right job, a better apartment... But it wasn't right of me to ask her to go on pretending."

"She's here for you too, you know," Logan says. They're both part of a package: rekindling a relationship, being close to her father, solving mysteries, fighting for justice. Not one of those things would have been enough to keep Veronica here by itself.

Mr. Mars smiles. "I do know. It's hard to argue when someone you love wants to be close to you, isn't it?" He holds out a hand. "What do you say, Logan? Truce?" 

It's hard to imagine Mr. Mars forgiving or forgetting the night he'd thrown Logan out of the apartment years ago, but what is he here for if not a new beginning? He accepts Mr. Mars' outstretched hand. "Truce," he says.

Mr. Mars' gaze slides toward the pies cooling on the dining table, and Logan follows right along. There are five of them: apple, pecan, classic pumpkin, brandied pumpkin, and something experimental involving a butternut squash that Logan doesn't really want to eat.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Mr. Mars asks.

"As long as you're not thinking about the squash thing," Logan says.

"I'll tell her it was my idea," Mr. Mars says, reaching out for one of the pumpkin pies. "How much trouble can we really get in if we eat it together?"

"A lot," Logan says, but he sticks a fork in anyway, and Mr. Mars smiles. "Think you can tell me how to cook a turkey before Veronica gets home?"


End file.
